Unsaid
by cyrilandshirley
Summary: What Brendan wanted to say to Ste.


_This isn't really a fic, just a sort of stream of consciousness thing. Just to say thank you to the people who voted for me in the Twitter Soap Awards. There are loads of great writers in this fandom, and it can be a bit intimidating sometimes to be around. But it was was a lovely award to get, and I really appreciated it. So - thanks! _**  
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**Unsaid**

"I just wish that …"

What?

I'm standing here looking at you, and there's a question in your eyes, like you're waiting for the end of this sentence, but you're not sure you're ready to hear it. Your eyes are dark, concerned. Confused, as well, this little furrow thing in the middle of your brow, that I used to smooth away with my thumb, and you'd laugh, but no one's laughing now. You're scared a bit, maybe. Well yeah, we're all scared. We're right to be scared. Everything changed, yesterday. Death does that. There's no coming back from it. And no, I don't think you're ready to hear the end of this either. Am I ready to say it?

Wish what, anyway? Do I even know? Wish the world was different? Wish it was me that died? Wish I'd never been born? Wish I could rewind and do it differently? Wish there were things I hadn't done? Yeah, that's it, I think.

I wish I hadn't carried the body of that girl, a friend, a sister, down into the village yesterday, putting her down on the ground, cold, cradling her head in my hand, hearing Cheryl scream her name, and then cry, as the doc told us what I already knew was true, what my brain and my heart and my gut couldn't handle, what hurt more than anything else I'd ever felt, like having part of you torn away.

I wish I hadn't come home, my head full of other bullshit, and found her lying there, her eyes wide open, tears streaked down her face, and no way of telling me who'd made her cry, like she always used to, so I could go and sort it, like I always do.

I wish I hadn't let myself be somewhere else, while she was dying. Trying to help someone else, like an idiot, while the person who really needed me was on her own.

I wish I'd never started this, sending a lad into danger in the first place, just on someone else's say so. I wish I hadn't had to go and take revenge, but I just did. I made a mistake. I was trying to put it right. And all I did was create chaos. This is my fault.

I wish I didn't have to trust the person who dragged me into this mess. Maybe that's a mistake, too. Probably. Definitely. But I need him, because … there is no one else who can help with this. No one else gets it, the mess, the darkness, hands dirty. And he fills a space. I'd never have made that call to him if you hadn't written that letter to me, but I'm not blaming you. I guess you get what you deserve. And I didn't deserve you. He's a whole different ball game.

I wish I'd told you for real that I just wanted you with me, when I had the chance. That I'd never started with the games. I never thought I could lose. Or that it would hurt so fucking much to find you played it better than I did.

I wish I hadn't been such a twat as to book that hotel room, thinking I could get you there as easy as ordering dessert. I wish I'd understood that you would taste so much sweeter if you came of your own accord. And that after you left, taking your absence out on someone else wouldn't wipe away the taste of you, not in a million years.

I wish I hadn't tried to make you have the damn steak. I should know by now that you can speak for yourself, and you know what you want, even if it isn't me.

I wish I hadn't tried to make you mine against your will in the first place, all lawyers and contracts like some fucking prenup. I should have known that what I want from you can't be signed away on the dotted line. Not when you used to give it to me freely, and I threw it back in your face.

I wish I hadn't seen you kissing someone else that time, through the window of that stupid shop that I paid for, because it was the only way to keep you in my life. That was never supposed to happen, you and him. I never even thought. It seemed unreal. Except the pain. That was real.

I wish I hadn't hurt you so bad in the first place, that I had to work so hard to try to get you back. I wish I hadn't been so angry, with you, with everybody, my head exploding, everything running through my fingers, acting like the biggest dick in the world just to stop myself losing it, and losing everything instead.

I wish I hadn't hit you. Hated you. Humiliated you. Just to try to prove that I was still in control.

I wish I'd stopped to ask why my own son went running to you before he'd talk to me. And why you couldn't tell me.

I wish I hadn't shut you both out of this fucked up life I decided to live. When I know you were just trying to reach me.

I wish I'd told you what it felt like to do time inside for another man's crimes, and for the people you care about not to give a shit. Or that's what I told myself, pushing the thought of you away because it was driving me mad.

I wish I'd told you what was running through my head every day and every night while I did that time, hour by hour, minute by minute, tick by fucking tock. And how much better you looked in the flesh when my time was up, so good it stopped my pulse, though I was damned if I'd let you see.

I wish I'd never been so stupid, so fucking cocksure of myself, to get myself put in there in the first place. Caged In. Outplayed.

I wish I hadn't threatened and yelled and shouted the odds at that other wee girl, just for telling my son what I couldn't tell him, standing raging in the middle of the village, knowing I was scaring her, your body the only thing stopping me laying hands on her right there and then.

I wish I'd been brave enough to tell him before, myself, when you told me to, instead of trying to hide from what I already knew about me. What everyone knew. You, most of all. Because I know now, he didn't give a damn. He just needed me to be his Dad.

I wish I'd gone with you on that bloody holiday. That maybe, more than anything. Because you, and your kids, you were everything I wanted, standing right there at some poxy bus stop, and all I had to do was stop the car and open the door, and I could have had you, and nothing else really mattered. It was my chance, my ticket. My last chance, maybe. But I didn't stop. And I lost it all.

I wish I'd just said, we're together, when I was asked, what's going on? I wish I'd just said, yeah, this is Steven. I love him. I'm gay. I should have told you before. I'm sorry. It was what everyone deserved. But it was my wife. And I was running scared. And I'm a fucking coward.

So yeah, there are things I regret. Her, you, everything. I wish she wasn't dead. I wish I hadn't let that happen, her getting hurt, everyone getting hurt, aching for what's gone and is never coming back. And I wish I hadn't hurt you, over and over, or Cheryl, or my son, but mainly you, treating you like a punchbag, taking it all out on you whenever my brain short-circuited. I am a fuck-up. I just thought that was who I was. It probably is. But there's one thing I don't regret.

You. I thought I did. I thought I wished I'd never met you, never got into this. I thought if I could just cut you out, I could fix it all, go back to how I was. Almost, anyway. Untouchable, except on my terms. Invincible. Alone. But there are times when it's pretty hard to be alone.

And standing here, looking at you, the arch of your brows, pulled together, your eyes, the tilt of your nose, I don't regret you. I don't regret taking you, though maybe the way I did it. I don't regret uncovering you, getting to the heart of you, every enjoyable, abandoned, sweaty inch. I don't regret letting you stay over, my arm round you, the weight of your head resting on my shoulder, when I knew it was nearly morning, and I should send you away. I don't regret pulling you into my chest, letting you cry all over me, when your kids were in the hospital, like you pulled me in yesterday. I don't regret that it started to make a difference, whether you were there with me or not. I don't regret what I had to do, to keep you safe, to keep you alive. I wish I hadn't had to. But I would do it again today if I had to, in a heartbeat. I don't regret going back to you, time and again, because I never seemed to be able to say goodbye and mean it. I don't regret telling you I loved you, that you were it, the promises I made when you leant up against me, and tilted your head back, and let me kiss you, reached for me. I just wish that I'd been able to keep them.

And now, you're looking at me again. Your face shows all your feelings, like before. It looks like you actually still care. And you tell me you've been worried. Ask me how I'm feeling. And all I can think is that I just wish I could tell you.

I wish I could tell you how much it hurts to love someone and fuck it all up, and lose them.

I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.

I wish I could tell you what it meant that you grabbed hold of me when I was losing my mind, and let me hang on to you, clutching the back of your jacket. Your hand, on the back of my head. My face buried in your shoulder as he called it. Twelve thirty-nine. You held on. You are stronger than you look. I wish I'd known.

And looking at you now, I just wish you would do it again, stand close and let me rest my head against yours. Share it, how much it hurts, just for a second.

I just wish that you were still with me. If you ever were with me. If I ever let that happen.

I wish I could reach out and touch you, just feel your skin, the way your hair was against my face.

I wish I could kiss you. Or that you'd let me. Or that you'd kiss me.

I wish it didn't have to be over when you step away, and go back to someone else.

I wish you knew how much I wanted you there last night, just to be with someone who was warm, and breathing.

I wish you were always there, days, nights, in every way, including on your back, wrapped around me, me inside you, letting me forget.

I just wish that I could wind back the clock, fix it all, make it all alright. But I can't. And you just gotta keep going, haven't you. Somehow. People need me.

You're still waiting. That's a lot to explain. Why is it the more you have to say, the less words you have to do it? And your face is open, beautiful – god, when did you get this beautiful? Weren't you a little scrote off the street? But you look troubled. And the problem is … you're not mine.

Words catch in my throat. It hurts, to look at you. I pull back.

"Don't matter," I say. "Don't matter … thank you …"

And I turn, quick, and walk away.

"Brendan?" you call out my name.

"Yeah?" I ask, turning round to face you, safer now there's a distance between us.

"Is there anything that I can do to help you?"

Help. After everything. You, want to help me?

And it's like you just know what I need, without me even having to say. Because I didn't think I needed anyone. But think I need you.

I wish I hadn't left it so late to realize it.

You're pulling me back to you. And I know I'm going to go. I always will, I think.

I just wish that I could tell you why.


End file.
